Check it out!❤️

Feyi is back?👀

I grew up on my own.

Yes, I’m still growing, but for most of my formative years, I had to figure things out on my own.

I remembered how it was in SS1, being called “round” and how badly I wanted to lose weight that I started starving myself. This actually started way earlier. I can remember one of my female teachers calling me in JSS2 when she found out I hadn’t eaten the entire day. She asked why, and I began weeping. Looking back now, that was so funny😂

I explained how people had been saying I was fat and I just wanted to lose weight.

Weight is just one of the many things I faced, but here are a few things I’ve noted that I wish I knew earlier.

1. Beauty standards change. A lot.

They’ll always change.

Learn to love your body through its different growth stages. Be healthy. Care for it.

I learned this from Stephanie Moka. I don’t follow her, neither do I endorse her page(I’ve not viewed her page in a while so idk), but I came across a video of hers a while ago where she said something along these lines, and it just made sense.

There will always be something new to fix. A new ideal to chase. A new way you're told you're supposed to look.

You cannot spend your whole life trying to become acceptable to a standard that keeps moving.

2. I was a yapper growing up, but I soon became quiet.

I was always told to shut up.

So I learned to process things myself. I couldn’t ask questions.

My caretakers were busy and weren’t always much of a safe space, and people always assumed I knew because I read a lot for my age. I grew up so fast and knew too much.

But I was just a child. I really was.

Sometimes I think about that little girl and wonder what would have happened if someone had simply sat down beside her and said, “Talk to me.” Meaning it genuinely not because they’re trying to fish for gist.

3. I’m grateful I got saved early and had the privilege of developing sense early.

Most times, I was just too tired to try to fit in, to be honest.

But I’m also grateful that I had access to the good side of the internet. I’ve ended up on the bad side too and I don’t know how, but I know it was God who kept curating my feed in ways that exposed me to good examples.

That was how my desire for more started.

But a lot of times, I wished I had more people to talk to.

I had questions.

I still do, but they’ve evolved.

I wish people had sat me down to teach me. I remember always crying to God for this. I’ve met and spoken to different people at different times but yeah.

I was always connected to resources, sermons, podcasts, books, that taught me these things. And I’m grateful for them because they piqued my interest and made me want to learn.

But I wish it had been different.

I wish someone had been there to say, “Come, let me explain this to you.”

4. I wish more younger people would speak up.

About their processes much more than their results.

Online and offline.

Because the reason evil thrives is that the people who know better are not talking about it.

And let’s say there are people talking about it; they’re not talking about it enough.

People are actually watching.

Maybe not even for the fame or influence, but for guidance.

Not necessarily to be an internet uncle or aunty.

Just show your becoming.

Be a light.

For the girls: talk about beauty standards, identity and worth, investing in yourself and dreaming big. Love is cute, but you are not dependent on any man for anything. If anything, a man who loves you should nurture you and help you bloom.

For the guys: talk about emotional intelligence, separating money from identity, sex, and other vices.

I personally believe the onus is on everyone who knows better to do better.

We should have a sense of communal responsibility—the understanding that the children around you are, in some way, your responsibility too.

Please speak life into your siblings.

I understand that two people can live in the same house and have completely different perspectives of the same thing. I’ll write about this soon.

But speak life into the girls and boys around you.

Let them know they are loved. Not just by you, but by God, most importantly.

I know everyone is busy and trying to make it. I know everyone has their own lives and problems and things they’re figuring out.

But this?

This would matter more than anything.

You don’t have to be seen. You don’t need a mentorship hub. You don’t need to build a platform around it.

But please don’t keep quiet and turn a blind eye when you notice an anomaly.

Pull the child aside.

Ask the question.

Have the conversation.

Tell them they are loved.

Tell them what you wish someone had told you.

It’ll go a long way, I promise you.

Okay, bye.

Ke ni nice week o

I’ve felt like a dump this past week.

I don’t think I’ve experienced as wide a range of emotions as I have this week in my life. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating. I’ve been through some real terrible things. But this week?

If there’s one thing I do subconsciously, it’s sabotage myself in order to protect myself from disappointment.

No, I didn’t experience disappointment this week. At least, I wouldn’t know until tomorrow.

But I was listening to a sermon this week and my pastor said something that stuck with me: it’s really crazy faith to believe God no matter the outcome. As per, it takes even crazier faith to trust God for something again when the result was negative the first time.

I agree.

But what happens when it feels like I have nothing? Like there’s nothing to draw that faith from?

I’ve experienced happiness, anger, hope, sadness, irritation, disgust, grief—and a few others I probably can’t name—all in one week.

I can’t count how many times I had to stop myself from saying, what kind of stupid life am I living?

Because the enemy really does make you hyper-focused on all the bad things happening in your life.

Don’t fall for it, kids. It’s a sham.

I also came across a post that said: “maybe you don’t have a bad life. You’re just tired”.

I think I am.

I know I am.

But Feyi? She won’t stay there.

She’s tired, but she’ll get back up and go again.

So yes.

Another bad week.

Not a bad life.

It’s just a bad week.

Maybe if I say it enough, it’ll rewire my brain.

Sometimes I wonder when this phase of my life will end, or if it ever will. Sometimes I ask myself if there’s more to me than all that I currently see.

I know there is.

The desire wells up in me every single time.

And no, I’m not one of those “I desire it, therefore it will happen to me” people. I do the work. I take the steps. I show up.

Today, I told God: You’re the desire and also the satisfaction.

Not just in my devotion, but in every aspect of my life.

You put this desire for more in me, so na you go satisfy am.

Maybe there’s more to me than here.

I know there is.

But we’ll find out next week.

For today, thank You, Jesus, for last week. And for the work You’ve done in me that I can’t see yet.

For tomorrow and next week?

We’ll find out what they hold.

And God forbid this becomes all I talk about.

Anyway.

It’s about time I ate my Sunday rice and plantain😌

How was your week, my people?

It’s the last day of Week 31 and, after being MIA for about 20 weeks, I’m back.

Who missed me? 😂

When I said I’d write every week, I knew it wasn’t an impossible feat. I wasn’t just excited in the moment, I genuinely wanted to do it.

Let me try to put into words all that has happened? I think I’d fail woefully because it honestly feels like I’ve lived 50 lives in the past five months😭

Writing every week would’ve helped, to be honest. But I can’t quite explain that feeling of wanting to get everything together first before doing other things. It’s like it takes an extra amount of energy to pour into one area of your life while every other part is moving at the same time.

If there’s one thing I’ve had to learn over the past few months, it’s this: life doesn’t wait for everything to become still before it asks you to keep living. And truly? This is how life after school would be.

My life has had so many moving parts that I kept telling myself, “Omo, let this season end first, then I can pick up the other things; including writing.” I was trying to contain everything. To make it all be still before I gave attention to anything else.

Life rarely stays still for long, to be honest.

The things I genuinely loved doing took a hit.

I did my best to document life, mostly on my Instagram stories. But omo…

The past few months have had their highs and lows, and if there’s one thing I’d do differently, it would be learning to keep living even when other parts of my life feel like they’re falling apart.

A friend once told me, “You could dedicate just one hour to writing every week and you’d still get it done.”

But this brain of mine? I need a scientist to explain this phenomenon. 😂

I actually did try to write on some weeks. And every time I did, it reminded me how important it is to keep track of both the wins and the losses. Because if we’re not careful, we’ll wake up one day and realise we’ve just been existing instead of being present in the lives we’re actually living.

These past few months have been both incredibly stretching and, at times, downright hellish.

And where I currently am?

Somewhere between gratitude and uncertainty.

How can both exist at the same time, you ask?

I honestly don’t know.

And no, I don’t mean uncertainty in the sense that I don’t know the One who holds my life. God is a good God, and I know I’ll be okay because my life is in His hands.

Truly.

Things aren’t entirely clear right now, but one thing I do know is this: I’ll be fine.

I’m done with university now.

Even writing that feels strange.

It’s easy for me to move on from milestones because my brain is usually already in “What’s next?” mode. I tell myself, “I’m not the first person to graduate.” I downplay it before I even give myself the chance to celebrate.

But yesterday, while journaling, I said to myself:

Feyi, I am truly proud of you.

You’ve done well.

No, you may not be the best thing after sliced bread 😂, but you’ve done well.

Over the last four years, you’ve submitted yourself and allowed God to do a work in you. It’s one thing to attend university; it’s another thing entirely to finish Covenant University. That’s a story for another day. 😂

I know where I’m coming from, and I can see how far the Lord has brought me.

I’m proud of me.

Like, mad proud.

I’ve learned. I’ve stretched. I’ve become a better person. I’ve grown.

And the people…

God gave me incredible people.

Some friendships began early, others right at the end of my time in CU, but every one of them became part of the story God was writing.

What will I miss the most about Covenant University?

The people.

My friends.

What do you mean I can’t casually walk to one of my friend’s rooms anymore? We actually have to schedule everything now?

Sigh.

The conversations.

The community.

And my sweet, sweet Chapel.

Chapel became my safe haven.

…Until it didn’t because it became work. 😂 But even then, I’ll truly miss it.

It’s been a ride.

This entry feels like several journal entries stitched into one, but I guess that’s fitting.

I’m back.

I’ve had so many thoughts sitting in my head and in my drafts. Back to being vulnerable through writing? I still fear being seen… but okay.

I’m still on my journey of becoming.

But today, I’m simply grateful for these four years.

Ogenemigwo❤️

I’ve seen so many April dumps with captions like “April was a full month” or “April was the month I did a lot and questioned everything at the same time.” It’s easy to slip into comparison and forget to count your own blessings.

I’m learning to see God in everything. Life makes much more sense that way.

In March and April, I held on to a phrase for dear life: God is the God of my life. That in every curve, every bend, every smooth road, He’s there.

Summary of my April?

Thanks be to God who keeps me from running mad. And I’m not even joking😭

As someone who loves order and control, April stretched me. I had my mini-crash outs here and there. I had so many moments where rhungs felt like they were slipping through my fingers faster than I could hold them.

It’s easy to say “God is in control” so easily. Living it is different.

I had to learn that even when things are out of my control, God is still in control… even (and especially) when I don’t see it.

That’s why this phrase has stayed with me: God is the God of my life. Not just in theory, but in practice.

April unraveled in ways I didn’t expect.

So many things spiraled. Friendships, service, academics.

My project supervisor resigned, and my new supervisor straight up said she doesn’t understand my topic and isn’t interested in reading up on it… so I’m figuring things out myself. (Remember me in your prayers😭). The highlight of my May will honestly be getting this over with.

April was also full.

The service unit I lead had our conference last week, and I’m incredibly proud of my friends and I. It was a combined conference, and despite all the back and forth, we pulled it off.

This is one part of my life I hold closely. I don’t always share it because it’s sacred to me, and I don’t want to get carried away by applause. But I can say this, God used young people who genuinely love Him to establish His counsel on our campus.

And yet, if I’m being honest, I don’t think I’ve fully processed it.

People have said “I’m proud of you” and “I was blessed,” and I’m grateful but a part of me is still asking quiet questions. What really changed?

I’m still learning how to receive things without immediately trying to measure them. I’m learning that not all impact is loud or easily explained.

Either way, I’m trusting that God did what only He can do, even beyond what I can see or quantify.

April shook me.

And yet, even in the midst of the chaos, God saw me.

A friend reached out and in that moment, I felt seen in a way I hadn’t in a while.

I had to relearn how to cast my cares on the Lord and fix my gaze on Him even when everything else was shaking. I had to learn to live with the discomfort of not being in control. I had to stand firm on certain things, navigate working with people, regulate my emotions, and unlearn and relearn how to handle friendships.

My emotions were on a rollercoaster(still are on some days) And honestly… I can’t wait to graduate.

Three months has never felt so close and so far at the same time.

I’m taking my grad pictures tomorrow. I’m tired, but I’m excited. Closer and closer.

I’ve been more tired lately, I look it sometimes too, but it’d all makes sense.

Even in the chaos, there were soft moments.

My friends celebrated birthdays, we laughed, we showed up, we created memories. I saw my friend Dafid again. I documented my little pockets of happiness.

Heart Fire and Unwittingly Yours carried my Mondays, you’d find me running here every time a new post dropped.

I started reading Talk Like TED (still not finished), but we move.

April, in its own complicated way, was a good month.

My fave dropped a new song today, “Honey, I Love You,” and my first reaction was, “Another love song? Ejoor, una no like food?” 😭 Nawa o😡.

May is for movement. A moving man will always meet his luck.

April was quite a month. Make May no try am.

Well it MAY not or it MAY🌚

If April was heavy for you, I pray you receive a quiet, warm reassurance of God’s presence and the strength to try again in May.

And as for me,

I’m back to writing every week.

I’ve missed this.

And if God is good, why would He appear to override free will?

The story of Pharaoh in Exodus often raises these questions because at first glance, it can seem as though God is making a man stubborn just so He can punish him. But a closer reading shows something deeper.

A few things are worth noting.

1. Pharaoh was not morally neutral before God acted

Before Scripture says God hardened Pharaoh’s heart, Pharaoh had already shown sustained wickedness.

He had:

• enslaved Israel for generations

• oppressed them ruthlessly

• ordered the killing of Hebrew male children in Exodus 1

• resisted Moses repeatedly even before stronger judgments came

If anything, this shows that God was not creating evil in an innocent man.

God’s hardening happens in the context of an already rebellious ruler.

God did not manufacture rebellion. He judicially confirmed rebellion already chosen.

This means hardening is often less about forcing evil into someone and more about handing someone over to the path they insist on walking.

This is similar to what Romans 1 describes:

“Therefore God gave them over in the sinful desires of their hearts…” (Romans 1:24)

And again:

“God gave them over to shameful lusts…” (Romans 1:26)

And again:

“He gave them over to a depraved mind…” (Romans 1:28)

So hardening can mean:

• strengthening a person in the direction they have chosen

• withdrawing restraining mercy

• allowing pride to mature into its full consequence

In that sense, divine judgment and human responsibility are working together

2. “What if Pharaoh wanted to change?”

Several times Scripture says Pharaoh hardened his own heart.

Several times it says he refused.

Several times he appeared to relent only when pressure increased, and then returned to defiance.

His temporary negotiations were not repentance.

A pattern he followed was simple:

• “Take away the plague, then I’ll let them go.”

• Relief comes.

• He changes again.

That does not suggest surrender but calculation. He wanted relief without yielding lordship. The issue here is that Pharaoh repeatedly encountered truth and resisted it.

He saw power, warning, mercy, and still held tighter to control.

3. Hardening did not cancel free will

The language of hardening sounds mechanical and can appear at first glance to negate free will.

But biblically, hardening often means this:

the same revelation produces different responses depending on the heart receiving it.

God sends signs. One man bows. Another resists harder.

The sun that melts wax hardens clay

Same sun. Different material.

Pharaoh saw signs, warnings, mercy between plagues and opportunities to yield

Yet each act of divine power became another reason to protect his throne.

So hardening is not God violating freedom. It is God allowing pride to crystallize.

4. Why did God continue after Pharaoh kept refusing?

Exodus 9:16:

“But for this purpose I have raised you up, to show you My power, so that My name may be proclaimed in all the earth.”

This does not mean God created Pharaoh only to destroy him. It means God used even Pharaoh’s resistance to reveal:

• His justice

• His supremacy over Egypt’s gods

• His covenant faithfulness

• His power to save the oppressed

Each plague was not random disaster. Each plague was also a theological confrontation.

Egypt’s gods were being publicly shown powerless.

5. Why drown the Egyptians? Were they not human too? (It’s easy to act okay when you’re not on the receiving end)

Yes, they were human.

Yes, they had families.

And this must never be spoken about lightly.

But Scripture presents the sea judgment carefully.

a) A final act after long warnings

Egypt had already seen:

repeated plagues, devastation, supernatural signs and clear evidence that Israel’s God was acting

Yet they still pursued Israel violently.

The army entered the sea not accidentally but as active pursuers.

B) Deliverance for the oppressed

For Israel, the sea was not random destruction.

It was rescue.

Sometimes judgment in Scripture is inseparable from deliverance.

And this raises an important question:

If God never judges oppressors, can He still be called good to the oppressed?

Because goodness is not only gentleness.

Goodness also includes justice.

6. God judged Egypt, but He also showed mercy to Egypt

It’s easy to miss this part.

Some Egyptians feared God and responded.

Some protected their livestock when warned.

Later, Scripture says a mixed multitude left Egypt with Israel.

That means judgment was not blind ethnicity.

Mercy was available to those who responded.

7. What Pharaoh’s story teaches us about God’s goodness

God’s goodness is not softness without justice.

God’s goodness means:

He hears oppressed people

He gives warnings before judgment

He confronts entrenched evil

He does not act impulsively

He remains patient even when resisted repeatedly

Pharaoh’s story is severe because oppression is severe.

Judgment came, yes. But it waited so long because God is patient.

And sometimes we struggle with divine judgment because we are reading it from the comfort of not being the enslaved ones.

For the oppressed, justice is not cruelty. Sometimes, it is mercy arriving.

Christianity is not built merely on moral teaching, spiritual comfort, or religious tradition. It is built on a historical claim: Jesus Christ died, was buried, and rose again.

That is why Paul the Apostle writes in 1 Corinthians 15:

“Now if Christ is preached that He has been raised from the dead, how do some among you say that there is no resurrection of the dead? But if there is no resurrection of the dead, then Christ is not risen. And if Christ is not risen, then our preaching is empty and your faith is also empty. Yes, and we are found false witnesses of God, because we have testified of God that He raised up Christ, whom He did not raise up—if in fact the dead do not rise. For if the dead do not rise, then Christ is not risen. And if Christ is not risen, your faith is futile; you are still in your sins! Then also those who have fallen asleep in Christ have perished. If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men the most pitiable.”

“If Christ has not been raised, then our preaching is useless and so is your faith.”

In other words, if the resurrection did not happen, Christianity collapses. But if it did happen, then Christianity cannot be dismissed as merely one religious option among many. Christianity is anchored in whether Christ truly rose.

And this is important because Christianity does not ask whether resurrection sounds ordinary. It asks whether any competing explanation explains history better.

Taken together, the historical facts do not force belief, but they make the resurrection historically difficult to dismiss and present it as the strongest explanation for what followed Jesus’ death.

Christianity is anchored in history.

Christianity makes claims that entered real history under the rule of the Roman Empire. Even many non-Christian historians agree on core facts:

• Jesus existed

• He was crucified under Pontius Pilate

• He was buried

• His followers claimed He rose

• The Christian movement began immediately after His death

The real question is not whether Jesus existed.

The question is: What best explains what happened after His death?

Did Jesus truly die?

Some theories attempt to weaken the resurrection by suggesting Jesus did not fully die. But the evidence strongly points otherwise.

The Gospel accounts record that when Jesus’ side was pierced, blood and water came out.

Many medical scholars note that this detail is consistent with severe trauma following crucifixion, possibly fluid buildup around the heart or lungs after death.

Crucifixion itself was not casual punishment. It was one of the most brutal execution systems developed by Rome. Roman soldiers knew how to confirm death because failure could cost them their own lives.

He was buried.

Jesus did not disappear anonymously. He was publicly buried, and this happened during Passover, when Jerusalem was crowded and events were highly visible.

The burial matters because resurrection claims begin from an identifiable tomb, not an unknown location.

Could the body have been stolen?

This theory raises more questions than it answers.

Who exactly stole it?

The disciples?

These were the same disciples who had fled in fear when Jesus was arrested.

Would frightened followers suddenly overpower trained Roman guards and remove the body?

Roman soldiers were highly disciplined, especially under politically sensitive conditions—not the Nigerian police, sorry not sorry 😭

A failed guard assignment carried severe consequences.

The authorities wanted Jesus definitively silenced. The tomb was not casually watched. And if enemies took the body, why was it never produced when resurrection preaching began in the very city where Jesus died?

The disciples changed dramatically.

Something undeniable happened to the followers of Jesus.

Before the crucifixion:

• they hid

• scattered

• feared arrest

Afterward:

• they preached publicly

• endured persecution

• suffered for their testimony

People may die for what they believe is true. But the disciples were in position to know whether they were lying.

A person may die for deception only if deceived. The disciples would have known if they invented the resurrection.

Post-resurrection appearances matter.

Christianity did not begin merely because a tomb was empty.

It began because people claimed they saw Him alive.

Paul the Apostle records in First Epistle to the Corinthians 15 that Christ appeared to:

• Peter the Apostle

• the Twelve

• more than five hundred people at once

• James

• and later Paul himself

This matters because the Christian claim did not begin as a private spiritual impression but as public testimony tied to named witnesses, early proclamation, and lives radically altered by what they claimed to have seen.

Why their testimony is taken seriously.

First, these claims emerged very early. Paul in First Epistle to the Corinthians 15 records a resurrection tradition many scholars believe predates the letter itself and goes very close to the events being described.

That matters because legends usually need time to grow. Yet resurrection appears at the center of Christian proclamation almost immediately. Christianity did not slowly invent resurrection centuries later; it began with it.

Second, the witnesses were not left vague. Paul names specific people: Peter, James, the Twelve, and even more than five hundred people at once.

Why name witnesses if the claims were detached from public memory, especially when many people connected to those events were still alive and could, in principle, question them?

Third, testimony cost them something.

These witnesses did not initially gain political power, wealth, or safety. Instead, they faced imprisonment, persecution, and rejection.

People may lie when there is something obvious to gain, but sustained suffering weakens the theory of deliberate fabrication. It does not automatically prove truth, but it affects credibility.

Then there is Paul himself.

He began as a persecutor of Christians, not a sympathetic insider. Yet he became one of Christianity’s strongest witnesses after claiming an encounter with the risen Christ. That kind of reversal demands explanation.

And finally, the Gospel accounts preserve details that are unexpectedly unflattering.

The disciples fled. Peter denied Jesus. Women were recorded as the first witnesses in a culture where female testimony carried less public weight.

Ancient fabricated stories usually protect their central figures. These accounts do not. That does not settle every debate, but it suggests the writers were preserving remembered events rather than constructing a polished legend.

Jesus’ death was publicly shameful.

In the Roman world, crucifixion was disgraceful.

It was not the kind of ending anyone would invent for a messianic hero.

Yet Christians proclaimed a crucified Messiah openly.

That itself is historically unusual.

The rise of Christianity is historically difficult to ignore.

A small persecuted movement emerged without military force, political sponsorship, or institutional power.

Yet it spread rapidly across the empire.

Its earliest message was not:

“Be moral.”

It was:

Jesus died, rose, and is Lord. And because of this, everyone who believes can have a relationship with God.

And this proclamation began in the same region where His death happened, where claims could have been publicly challenged.

Scripture carries remarkable coherence.

The Bible is not one book written at one time.

It is a library written across centuries by different authors, cultures, and settings.

Yet one unified story emerges:

creation → fall → covenant → redemption → new creation

That coherence remains one of Scripture’s striking features.

Christianity survives serious intellectual scrutiny.

Faith is not the absence of thought.

Serious thinkers like Augustine of Hippo and C. S. Lewis did not believe because they lacked questions.

They believed after wrestling deeply.

Christianity continues to offer serious answers in:

• history

• philosophy

• morality

• meaning

And perhaps most radically.

Christianity is the only faith whose center is not humanity climbing toward God, but God coming toward humanity.

God became man.

He entered history.

He dwelt among people.

He suffered.

He died.

That is no small claim.

It means salvation is not merely instruction.

It is divine intervention.

Final thoughts?

Christianity is not true because it feels comforting.

It is true if Christ truly rose.

Honestly, I love watching these kinds of videos. They push me to ask questions about my faith. Some I’ve asked before and can now get more grounded answers to, and some I hadn’t even considered yet.

So, before we jump straight into the question, “Is Christianity a cult?”, let’s do some basic definitions.

What is a CULT?

According to Merriam-Webster,

a cult is: “a group (such as an organization or religious sect) with tenets and practices regarded as coercive, insular, or dangerous.”

So, a cult is not simply a group with strong beliefs.

It’s a high-control group characterized by coercion, suppression of dissent, isolation from outside influence, and sometimes punishment—social, emotional, or spiritual—for leaving.

Cult dynamics are rooted in control, not just conviction.

And just to clarify: conviction is a deeply held belief that shapes voluntary action, while coercion forces compliance through pressure or fear.

At its core, Christianity has never been a coercive, high-control group.

What is Christianity/Who is a Christian?

The word “Christian” was first used in Antioch to describe people whose lives reflected Christ (Acts 11:26).

Christianity is centered on Jesus—the claim that He is the Son of God who came to reconcile humanity to God through His life, death, and resurrection.

It’s not primarily allegiance to an institution, but allegiance to Christ Himself, which means following Him is motivated by belief and trust, not fear or external pressure.

Following Jesus requires commitment. He calls for surrender, obedience, and transformation. But here’s the thing: intensity does not equal coercion.

The key distinction: cults enforce loyalty through control, Christianity calls for loyalty through conviction, which is freely chosen and rooted in belief.

Jesus’ teachings were public. People asked questions. Some walked away. He never forced anyone to stay.

Commitment in Christianity is meant to be voluntary—a response to belief, not pressure—and the freedom to walk away remains intact.

Some people who claim to be Christians behave in ways that are outright abusive or occultist. Have people taken Christianity too far? Absolutely. There have been abusive leaders, manipulative churches, and distorted expressions of the faith. But here’s the thing: the corruption of a thing does not invalidate the thing itself.

Bad governments do not invalidate political philosophy (just look at our beloved Nigeria 👀). Bad doctors do not invalidate medicine. Abusive churches do not automatically invalidate Christianity.

Abuse reveals human failure, not necessarily doctrinal falsehood.

Distortion happens when leaders replace Christ as ultimate authority. In healthy Christianity, leaders are accountable, Scripture is public, questioning is not rebellion, and leaving is not met with punishment or threats.

When loyalty shifts from Christ to a personality or institution, that’s when cult-like dynamics emerge.

Humans naturally give intense commitment to whatever they value most—marriage, career, ideologies, etc.

If Christianity is true—if Christ truly reconciled humanity to God—then half-hearted commitment would be irrational. Intensity, in that case, is a rational response to perceived truth and value.

The issue isn’t intensity. The issue is whether that intensity is freely chosen, not coerced, and grounded in understanding rather than blind obedience. And because Christianity maintains freedom of choice, that intensity does not turn into cult-like control.

But here’s the deeper question we can’t skip: how do we know Christianity is true? How can God be trusted enough to follow wholeheartedly? This is where the real examination begins; looking at the character of God, even in the hard parts of the Bible. Stories like the hardening of Pharaoh’s heart, which at first glance seems to negate free will, can feel confusing or even contradictory. Yet, exploring these passages carefully, in the context of God’s justice, mercy, and ultimate purposes, is how we begin to understand why trusting Him is reasonable.

Stay tuned for the next issue😉

The loudest voices are often the most popular and not always the most correct. We are living in an age that rewards visibility, noise, and boldness, whether that boldness is wise or foolish. Influence favours the bold. And that should concern us.

It should concern us because our generation has mastered amplification. We like, we share, we repost, and we move on. Rarely do we pause to ask whether the values in the content we are distributing actually align with ours. Yet every share is an endorsement. Every repost is a small “I agree.” Every laugh is subtle permission.

Without realizing it, we consistently reward loudness, especially when it is funny, dramatic, outrageous, or controversial. But when something is thoughtful, grounded, rooted in truth, suddenly it becomes “too long,” “too serious,” something we will “read later.” And just like that, we amplify noise over sense.

This pattern makes sense in a generation where everyone has an opinion, a podcast, a camera, a platform. People are boldly defending what they believe, even when what they believe is shallow, misguided, or outright wrong. They are not whispering. They are not apologizing. They are not shrinking back. They are loud about it.

And then there are believers.

We who claim to know the Truth. We who say our faith is everything. We who say Jesus changed our lives. And yet, we are quiet.

Why?

Is it fear — fear of being misunderstood, labeled extreme, or canceled? Is it exhaustion from the endless online noise?

Perhaps we are even speaking, but we are discouraged because truth does not “go viral” as easily as entertainment. We are told to make it more interesting, to make it trend. And yes, excellence and storytelling matter. But beyond technique lies something deeper: conviction.

Meanwhile, Christianity is being misrepresented daily — mocked, distorted, dragged in the mud — and we scroll past it. Not because we do not care, but because we have grown comfortable with silence.

This is not a call to be obnoxious or combative. It is not a call to argue in every comment section or to weaponize faith. It is a call to stand your ground. To know why you believe what you believe. To study. To ask hard questions. To grow roots deep enough that your confidence is not shaken by cultural winds. And then, from that rooted place, to speak. Not angrily, not desperately, but confidently.

Because if others can be bold about what they believe, even when it is empty, why are we timid about what we claim is eternal truth?

You may not begin posting sermons or recording videos. That is fine. But you are still participating in shaping culture through what you amplify. You can like intentionally. Share intentionally. Repost intentionally. You can refuse to distribute whatever is funny simply because it is trending. You can be cautious about what you consume and deliberate about what you endorse.

If influence rewards boldness, then let conviction be louder than culture. Let conviction influence culture.

This year, it is egusi for egusi. Aura for aura. We will not be caught amplifying everything and standing for nothing.

For the next few weeks, I will be writing about questions surrounding the Christian faith — the hard ones, the uncomfortable ones, the ones culture throws at us and sometimes we quietly avoid. Questions like: Is Christianity a cult? Is God evil? Can the Bible be trusted?

I do not claim to have exhaustive answers. But, I’d be sharing what I know (with pointers to relevant sources)— in written form here, and in video form on Instagram.

Not to argue. Not to win debates. But for clarity. And to steward the truth responsibly.

That sentence and anything remotely close to it gives me the ick every single time.

Not because romance isn’t important.

But because when did effort become exclusive to romantic relationships?

When did we start rationing care?

When did friendship become the waiting room for “real love”?

And no, this isn’t me trying to romanticize friendships.

Friendships are work.

Serious work.

They require communication. Apologies. Growth. Accountability. Intentionality. Just like any romantic relationship would.

So why do we treat them like optional extras?

Why is it:

“I can’t stress myself, you’re not my babe.”

But the moment someone becomes “my babe,” suddenly we can stress.

Suddenly we can try. Suddenly we can stretch.

What changed?

Be honest.

The same excuses you keep making for that foolish boy (no offense 😭), maybe you’d make them for your friends.

The same grace.

The same “he’s a good person. He just has stuff to work on”

The same “let me just try..”

The same patience.

And no, I’m not saying stay where you’re not loved.

I’m not saying tolerate disrespect, emotional laziness or bad behavior.

I’m saying: give people a chance to be people.

Not every misunderstanding is betrayal.

Not every flaw is toxicity.

Not every inconvenience is a red flag.

It becomes toxic when someone refuses to grow. When they won’t listen. When they won’t change.

But if someone is trying? Learning? Becoming better?

Why is your effort suddenly conditional?

Learn how not to throw away the baby with the bath water.

In the words of Yinka,

“Your friends would be one of the greatest romances of your life.”

Some of the deepest love you will experience will not come with a proposal.

It will come in the form of friendship.

And if we’re honest, even the strongest romantic relationships are built on friendship first.

Good friends?

May we find them.

May we recognize and value them.

And may we be them.

❤️

Exams have me on auto-pilot, but prayer requires that I feel.

And right now, I don’t want to feel anything.

I just want to get this over with.

The cycle is imminent.

Wake up. Read. Highlight. My coursemates send resources. Memorize. Past questions. Repeat.

My body moves. My brain performs. My soul? It feels suspended.

Auto-pilot is efficient. It numbs me just enough to function. It mutes disappointment. It postpones reflection.

“Feel later. Survive now.”

And in some ways, it works. Until it’s time to pray.

Because prayer refuses automation.

You can recite words.

You can repeat scriptures.

You can even say all the “right” things.

But real prayer demands presence. And presence demands that you feel.

That’s the problem.

Prayer for me isn’t duty. It’s how I live. In Him I live and move and have my being.

Prayer is relational.

And relationships don’t thrive on efficiency alone. They require vulnerability.

Prayer slows me down enough to confront what’s underneath the productivity:

The quiet comparison. The pressure to prove. The exhaustion I’ve been pretending isn’t there.

Auto-pilot helps me ignore those things.

Prayer brings them to the surface.

And sometimes, I don’t like that.

But prayer, for me, is soul maintenance. Not performance. Not presentation. Maintenance. I really want this exam season to be over, to be honest.

Some days it feels like I don’t have time to pray properly. Then I remember: quality over quantity.

So I take intermittent pauses between study sessions to speak to God. Worship playlists for me to remember, bits and pieces of sermons.

Not because He is distant.

But because He is Father.

And He sees.

And He hears.

It makes me feel lighter. Like an exhale.

I don’t fully know how to explain it. But it makes sense.

It’s week two, and I go again.

This time, aware that God is not waiting for the exam season to end before He shows up. He is here.

And for the people who say, “What’s with Christians and God’s help every time?”

If e reach your turn, go in your own strength.

As for me, I know mine is limited.

So I’m choosing not to be numb just to get through this.

God is present here.

Now.

And I choose to realize that.

This past week—amongst many other things that pissed me off—one thing stood out (as it always does) was the subtle… or maybe not-so-subtle oppression of young people by older people. Especially in the context of my beautiful country, Nigeria

In Nigeria, what we often call respect is really just fear dressed up in culture.

From a young age, we’re taught to keep quiet—even when something is clearly wrong—especially if the person involved is older. Speaking up is labeled disrespect. Questioning is seen as rebellion. Silence is treated as virtue.

But here’s the irony: the same society that trains children to shrink themselves later mocks them for being timid.

“Who trained you?”

“You’re not bold.”

“You can’t even talk.”

So which is it?

You can’t spend years shutting people down, humiliating them for asking questions, and then turn around and complain that they lack confidence. That’s not discipline. That’s conditioning.

On the other extreme, we now have people who think rudeness equals courage. Shouting. Talking down. Lacking basic courtesy—all in the name of “standing up for myself.” That’s not boldness either. It’s just another distortion.

There has to be a balance.

Respect should not mean silence in the face of wrong.

And boldness should not mean the absence of basic manners.

Young people should be encouraged to speak; to ask questions, to disagree thoughtfully, to express themselves without fear of public shaming. Boldness should be guided, not crushed. And when elders have the opportunity, they should model healthy disagreement: speaking firmly, respectfully, and without intimidation.

If we don’t address this now (even if not everyone listens), we raise adults who cannot be challenged—men and women who equate age with infallibility and see correction as an insult. And these are the same people we complain about every day.

Respect without voice produces cowards.

Boldness without wisdom produces noise.

What we need is courage with courtesy and a culture mature enough to allow both.

And not in the societal sense of good.

Saying it was good doesn’t necessarily mean I was happy all the time or constantly on a high. It was good in the honest way; both good and bad good. The kind that stretches you. The kind that does work on your heart.

This might read like a weak diary entry. As though I’m avoiding the things really on my mind(maybe I am), but, it’s honest. And right now, I’m allowing myself to pause.

In January, I set the Lord before me, and I wasn’t moved. I slacked sometimes, but I always found my way back; to prayer, to devotion, to Him. Because consistency isn’t always keeping a streak; sometimes it’s simply returning.

January felt like a heart reworking. It came with pressure. It wasn’t cute, but it was good nonetheless.

I couldn’t complete my January read because of school work. I disappointed people and that’s fine too. I’m human. I’m learning how not to feel guilty for prioritizing and re-prioritizing, because life actually moves in seasons.

Many days, I look at my life and I’m grateful.

I’m living a full life. Because truly, nothing is small until it is compared.

This is a very vague review of January. I know.

You people must be jealous of my journal right now. Hehe.😝

If I write everything, we no go comot for here.

February is already doing its thing. Exams are starting in a few days. Valentine’s craze has begun and is about to peak. As a single Pringle, small spite is rising in my heart for every couple out there😒(it’s a lie o. I love love. Abeg 🤣).

But, make una calm down. Abi?

I’m particularly excited for my church’s teaching series this month. Why? Post–Love Code clarity dey sweet me 🤣

I love how God can—and should—be involved in every area of our lives, even the ones we like to separate.

I’m about to spend the next three weeks deep-necked in algorithm and related jargon😭. It’s well. I will bag this degree.

Anyhoo, happy new month, my people 🤍

How was your January?

What are you looking forward to in February?

In February, go again. That’s Gods word to you❤️

Up to that point, a material can be stretched, pulled, strained, and yet recover fully.

Beyond it, the material doesn’t necessarily break.

It just doesn’t go back to its original form.

That distinction matters.

Because tension is not proof of collapse.

Sometimes, it’s simply evidence that force is being applied.

This past week stretched me.

In fact, this entire season has.

Not always in ways that are visible, but in that quiet, internal way where you can feel yourself being pulled.

Deadlines left and right.

Leadership demanding presence.

Friendships requiring attention.

I love the Lord. I love His people. I’m not complaining. I’m actually not.

I’m just stating the reality of things.

Academics have been stressing me. Honestly, the only thing left for my course to take from me is my soul, but thanks be to God, Jesus already has it. 😭😭

And somehow, in the middle of everything, I still have to show up for myself.

Sometimes,

sleep thins out.

Your mind rarely fully rests.

You carry responsibility, even and especially when you don’t feel like it.

It feels like tension.

Constant. Humming tension.

On Thursday, I broke.

And for a moment, I wondered if I had reached my limit.

I was tired.

Tired?

I’m trying not to use that word so often. I’ve noticed how it affects my mind.

But crying didn’t mean I broke.

It just meant there was strain.

Strain is simply the response of a material to applied stress. It’s measurable. Predictable. Expected. No engineer is surprised by it. If anything, its absence would be suspicious.

So what I felt wasn’t failure, but pressure doing exactly what pressure does.

And yes, I won’t return to my original state.

I’m not meant to.

The goal was never to remain unchanged. This isn’t elastic recovery. It’s training. A reshaping. A recalibration of capacity. Something in me is learning how to carry more weight without snapping.

Growth isn’t always pretty.

Sometimes, it arrives disguised as exhaustion.

And just when I was sitting with that thought, a friend sent me a text.

I sat with it for a while.

Because training is not comfortable. It’s repetitive. Demanding. Sometimes lonely. And in the middle of it, progress feels invisible. But strain has a purpose.

So maybe this season isn’t about asking how far I can go before I break.

Maybe it’s trusting God and seeing how much I can carry once I’m reshaped.

“Why am I here?”

The question of purpose is one that has bugged humanity for the longest time.

But, Is purpose really something you find?

To know the use of a thing, shouldn’t we go to the inventor?

And yet, many of us treat purpose like something we must figure out on our own.

In a bid to “find purpose,” many believers have unknowingly postponed obedience.

“I’ve not found my purpose yet.”

“God hasn’t said anything yet.”

So we pause our lives.

We stall responsibility.

And we call inactivity waiting.

But Scripture tells a different story.

Bring a chair. Come closer. Let me tell you something that might change your life.

When we read about men like Abraham, David, and Moses, we celebrate how well they fulfilled the purposes of God for their lives in their generations. But here’s something we often miss:

None of these men went out trying to find anything.

They weren’t “chasing destiny”.

They were following God.

David was tending sheep.

Abraham obeyed a call without a full map.

Moses was shepherding in obscurity.

Purpose met them in obedience.

We often think of purpose only in futuristic terms:

“What does God want me to be in five years?”

“In ten?”

“In twenty?”

And in doing so, we forget something vital:

Purpose includes now.

Purpose includes what God is asking of you today.

David was overlooked, young, and belittled; so overlooked that his own father did not count him worthy to stand before Samuel for the anointing. Yet David had something many purpose-seekers lack: faithfulness in the present.

By the time Goliath showed up, David had a résumé:

• Faithfulness in unseen places

• Courage formed in private

• Trust in God cultivated through responsibility

It was at the point of service that he heard Goliath’s boasting.

Kingship was not his pursuit. Obedience was.

And God, in His providence, wove that obedience into a much larger redemptive plan.

Now, let’s be clear: Scripture does teach waiting but biblical waiting is never passive.

Waiting in the Bible always looks like faithful obedience in the present.

So when waiting becomes an excuse to do nothing, to hide fear, or to delay responsibility, it stops being faith and starts being disobedience.

If there is no explicit instruction from the Lord to stop, then move.

Serve.

What is something you’re drawn to?

What skill has God already placed in your hands?

What burden keeps returning, even when you try to ignore it?

What is before you now and not five years away?

Do it.

Even if it feels small.

Even if it feels ordinary.

Because purpose is not always loud.

And it is rarely rushed.

That little thing may be small to you but it is never small to God.

It doesn’t have to be spectacular to be supernatural.

Serve the Lord with your gifts.

Honour Him with excellence.

C.S. Lewis once noted that a Christian shoemaker glorifies God not by placing little crosses on shoes, but by making good shoes.

So, your so-called “secular” work?

Do it well.

As unto the Lord.

If God gives you explicit direction, obey without delay.

But until then, faithfulness is not optional.

And at the end of the day, our purpose as believers is clear:

To know Christ and to make Him known.

That purpose is not waiting somewhere in the future.

It is active in the present.

So don’t suspend your life trying to “find” purpose.

Follow the Lord.

Fellowship with Him.

Serve faithfully.

Purpose has a way of revealing itself to those who are already walking

The past few days have been underwhelming, boring to say the least. Same routines. Same rhythm. And on some days, not much got done. Partly because I’ve been ill. (Much better now, glory to Jesus.)

But somehow, that sense of boredom seeped into devotion too.

And honestly, devotion can be boring.

You won’t always feel goosebumps.

You won’t always feel a spiritual high.

There are days it feels monotonous.

The same verses.

The same prayers.

No rush.

No thrill.

No emotional peak.

And maybe the reason it feels boring isn’t because devotion lacks depth, but because it demands stillness. Stillness is uncomfortable in a world addicted to movement.

We live in a time fueled by dopamine.

Endless scrolling. Constant updates. Immediate gratification.

Our attention is trained to move fast, not to stay.

So when devotion asks us to slow down, to sit, to wait, to listen, it feels like deprivation.

But was devotion ever meant to be entertaining?

Sometimes, I wonder if angels get bored.

Scripture tells us that the elders and angels cast their crowns, crying,

“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty.”

Over and over.

Repetitive.

Monotonous, at least by human standards.

Where’s the fun in that?

And someone once said, this isn’t stated explicitly in Scripture, but hear me out, that each time the angels lift their heads to bow again, they behold the beauty of the Father anew, and in awe, they have no choice but to cast their crowns once more.

While that statement isn’t Scripture, it aligns with a deeper truth. God’s glory is inexhaustible.

The repetition isn’t because nothing is happening.

It’s because something is always being revealed.

Maybe devotion feels boring when we’ve lost our wonder.

Maybe the problem isn’t repetition, but familiarity. A lack of reverence.

We rush through prayer.

We skim Scripture.

We show up, but we don’t behold.

And yet, the invitation of devotion is not novelty.

It is first nearness.

We’ve been brought near by His blood.

May we never lose our wonder.

May stillness stop feeling like punishment and start feeling like presence.

May devotion cease to be a duty we endure and become a delight we long for.

Because when God is truly seen,

even repetition becomes worship.

Every Sunday, I’ll show up here; with my thoughts, my questions, my reflections, my faith.

No pressure to be profound.

Just a commitment to be present.

Consider this the official-unofficial first entry.

—

It’s a new year, and everywhere I turn, everyone seems to be in a hurry.

A hurry to announce goals.

A hurry to rebrand.

A hurry to walk into every space wearing the new-me shirt simply because it’s a new year—as though if you didn’t start on some random Saturday in December, it doesn’t count.

And yes, I agree. Motivation alone won’t sustain anyone.

Discipline matters. Consistency matters. Starting small matters.

(PS. I’m writing this and I don’t feel so good health wise. I’m choosing to practice what I preach. Hehe)

But 2026 being a new calendar year doesn’t automatically mean it’s a new season for everyone.

And before I go further, let me be clear.

When I say this, I’m not downplaying the prophetic word you received for the year.

As believers, we are to listen, to discern, to receive direction from God. Words for seasons matter. Alignment matters.

And Scripture also teaches us something equally important: submission.

We can make plans—and we should—but we still submit them to God.

Not because planning is wrong, but because wisdom understands that clarity unfolds in obedience, not control.

“Commit your works to the Lord, and your plans will be established.”

It’s surrender. And surrender is wise.

So yes, for some, this year marks a clear new beginning.

For others, it’s a continuation.

For some, it’s pruning.

For others, it’s quiet preparation.

You might not need brand-new goals. You might just need to restructure the old ones.

You don’t need to change.

You’re evolving—becoming the man or woman God has been forming all along.

I’m not here to add to the endless advice and think-pieces about the new year.

But I’ll say this:

Know the season you’re in.

Know what the Lord is asking of you. And do that.

Don’t copy another person’s goals or adopt their measure of success.

You owe it to God, yourself, and the people meant to be blessed by your obedience to do what He has actually called you to do.

And sometimes, that looks like using the gifts you already have.

You might not need a dramatic encounter because it honestly doesn’t have to be dramatic to be supernatural.

Be.

Do.

Serve.

Die empty.

(I said I wouldn’t add to the noise, so I’ll stop here.)

—

I deleted Instagram recently.

I’m starting the year slow.

This year, amongst other things, I really want to love the Lord. I want to operate from a place of rest, not just knowing that I have rest in Christ, but being conscious of it, especially when the tides rise.

I came across an old journal a few days ago and laughed.

I kept asking myself, Why was I so worried? Why was I so afraid?

I could feel the weight of the words because I remembered the weight of that season.

Fear was familiar. It sat with me. It spoke often.

And looking back, I saw it clearly: fear had shrunk my vision of God.

Oh, how I belittled the Lord with my worry. I really struggled with trusting o😂

Then another question followed: What has changed?

I looked up.

I looked at the face of the One who called me to walk on water.

The wind will blow. Worry will come. But I want to remember the God who has fed me all my life long.

Ebenezer.

The Lord, my helper.

So even with plans I don’t fully understand yet, I’m choosing not to worry.

As long as I stay with Jesus, clarity will come.

Whatever He asks you to do? Do. That’s what will matter in the end.

———

And yes, happy grad year to me and mines o. Eagles flight 🦅.

Clerk it!🤏🏾

Jesus thank you.

In a bid to not become a burden, many of us learn to lock our pain away and perform “I’m fine” convincingly. Over time, this performance starts to look like strength. But often, it’s a quiet sign of dysfunction.

Sometimes, it could be because our emotions were shut down early — dismissed, minimized, or misunderstood. Other times, it’s because we grew up without people who could truly hold space for us. So we adapt. We internalize. We become custodians of our own wounds.

But here’s the truth: you’re allowed to feel.

You’re allowed to sit with discomfort.

To cry.

To bleed.

To not rush healing.

Feeling pain is not weakness.

But pain is also not your identity.

Your identity is found in the name spoken over you long before the pain ever showed up. And for me, that name was (and still is) Eniọbánkẹ́ — the one the King is taking care of.

Because you are not defined by what hurt you, but by the One who knows you fully and still calls you His.

Like a post I saw once said, feelings are visitors. They come, they speak, they leave. They are real, but they are not who you are.

I could easily say I don’t look or sound like what I’ve been through this year. And that would be true but also me being proud. 2025 has been a lot. Undeniably. My friends know this and even if they don’t know the full weight of it, that doesn’t invalidate their empathy. In fact, my friends have held space for me in ways I’m deeply grateful for.

Still, there was a kind of holding I felt that went beyond being understood.

With God, it was different.

He didn’t allow me to wallow.

I don’t know how to explain it properly, but whenever I wanted to numb the pain and let time just pass me by, He held me.

Conviction would rise gently in my heart. A reminder that I wasn’t alone, that I never had to be and this was not the end of the story.

There is something deeply comforting about being fully seen by God without having to perform resilience.

In trying not to become the custodian of multiple “eyahs” — the one everyone is concerned for, the one they’re always saying sorry to, one bad update after the other — we often lock ourselves away and pretend we’re okay.

Sometimes, it isn’t the care that makes us retreat, but the feeling of being known only through our wounds. When concern becomes constant, you begin to wonder if that’s all people see — the ache, the mess, the unfinished parts. Comparison creeps in quietly. Everyone else looks whole. You feel exposed. So you hide. Not because you don’t appreciate the love, but because you don’t want your pain to become your name.

But with God, you don’t have to act.

You may not post about it on social media and that’s okay. Social media is curated. It was never designed to be a safe space for your rawest truths.

Not everything needs an audience.

Healing doesn’t require exposure. At least, that kind of exposure.

It requires honesty; first with God, then with yourself and with the people God has given you. I pray you find your people, and that you become that person for others.

You’re allowed to feel deeply.

Just don’t confuse what you feel with who you are.

Pain can visit.

But it doesn’t have to move in and stay.

❤️

We’re often taught to play it safe.

Don’t dream too big.

Don’t aim too high.

Because if things don’t work out, at least you won’t be too disappointed.

And honestly, I get the sentiment. It’s safe. It protects your heart from failure.

But it also keeps you in a box.

I don’t think we were created to play it safe. Not when there’s so much potential within us.

Not when there’s a God who placed those dreams inside us for a reason.

Now, when I say “dream big,” I don’t mean selfishly ambitious.

Not the “I want to own half of Nigeria’s oil industry just to prove I can” kind of big.

Not the kind of ambition that’s all about gaining wealth and accumulating influence, while gaslighting yourself into believing you’ll help people “someday.”

Because, let’s be real, if you can’t give when you have little, you won’t magically become generous when you have more.

Generosity isn’t a result of wealth, it’s a posture of the heart.

Generosity is a muscle that can be trained at whatever stage of life you’re in.

But there’s such a thing as selfless ambition. The kind that’s anchored in God’s will and motivated by love.

Ambition that says, “God, here’s the big thing in my heart. Refine it, shape it, use it.”

A holy desire to do more, to be more, for the glory of God and the good of others.

The only constraint is God’s will.

And the truth is, many people are afraid of that surrender.

We think God’s will means losing — that He’ll take us from our “wealthy place” to some wilderness.

But maybe that fear says more about our view of God than about God Himself.

Maybe because we have a false view of what wealth really means.

Because what if His plan doesn’t shrink you?

What if it expands you; but in the right direction?

What if His “no” is just a redirection toward better?

God in the many, God in the little.

That’s the balance I want to live by.

Those desires in your heart? Especially if you love the Lord, they’re not random. They just need refining.

Because if the standard of goodness is God Himself, then how “good” is the work that leaves Him out?

So Live.

Live boldly.

Live for a selfless cause.

Not at the expense of God’s will for your life, but in alignment with it.

Those desires were put there for a reason.

Stewarding them well is how you honor God.

Honor the Lord.❤️

Actually, it doesn’t at all. It makes me giggle and smile so hard.

I act like a hard guy, but deep down? I love love.

But many times, I find myself wondering if this is actually real.

Does this version of love truly exist—especially in the context of being a believer?

Would my husband randomly catch my eyes in a crowd, smile, and make my heart flutter?

Would my babe/husband write me cute notes filled with inside jokes that make me smile?

Would we even have inside jokes?

Would I feel safe and at home with this person?

Would he say sweet things that make my heart jump?

Forehead kisses (even though I hate physical contact,😂 but that most definitely depends on who), hugs that make me feel at home?

Sometimes, these things feel weird and far-fetched.

Many people argue that they make us delusional—that we start craving a fictional kind of love.

And honestly, I don’t disagree.

Because of these “cute things,” people have overlooked red flags—oceans, actually—and walked into relationships that make them feel less of themselves, using the cute things to cover up what they should pay attention to.

Life isn’t Cinderella or Beauty and the Beast.

And those aren’t perfect examples anyway.

“Christians make love look serious.”

Well, it is.

Our perfect image is Christ, but that doesn’t mean love for us is boring.

We want a love that mirrors the relationship between Christ and the Church—not as shown to us by imperfect people, but as seen in God’s Word.

Christ died for the Church.

The little sacrifices, the compromises (not senseless or unbiblical ones, especially in dating), matter.

For me, that would look like going out of my way to show up for the little things he’s involved in.

I really want to be friends with my man.

And I don’t mind submitting to a man who is submitted to God. That way, I know I’m safe.

And no, submission isn’t subjugation. I’m not being oppressed.

I’m being nurtured.

I’m being groomed.

I’m being watered.

Christ sees me—

And I want someone’s son to feel seen.

I also want to feel seen.

In all things, I want my relationship to be this:

That we both come to understand God’s love more deeply through each other—on his end and on mine.

I want our relationship to be ours, and of course, God’s.

Just US and the Lord.

Selah.